


Whiskey Lullaby

by ThunderfrostRPQueen



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brad Paisley - Freeform, Drug Use, Erik Has Feelings, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Poor Erik, Regret, Song fic, Suicide, Susan kay referances, coffin bed, supportive husband raoul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderfrostRPQueen/pseuds/ThunderfrostRPQueen
Summary: This is a song-phic. Obviously it's to Whiskey Lullaby and takes place a few years after the opera burns. Just an idea I had after hearing the song on the radio. Kinda sad, with major character deaths. Let me know what you think! M for safety. I know not all the lyrics fit, but what can you do? All rights go to people who created POTO and Whiskey Lullaby.





	Whiskey Lullaby

**_She put him out_ **

**_like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette_ **

It was crushed. Any part that him that his cruel and unforgiving life had left untouched was crushed. She was his reason to live. To breathe.

What was there now?

Music didn't mean anything anymore. The beauty and purpose were gone. She had taken it all with her. He hardly played anymore. What was the point? All his works spoke of agony and betrayal.

They tore apart the soul, telling stories of pain and loneliness. Playing just hurt all the more.

No, silence was better. The cold, mocking silence.

**_She broke his heart,_ **

**_he spent his whole life tryin' to forget_ **

He refused to think her name. He couldn’t. The beautiful word just ripped a hole in his chest.

_Her._

She had no name. She was just... _My Angel._

The alcohol and hashish worked away at his mind day by day. He slept even less than he had before. When he did, she was there. He couldn't stand being with her only to wake up with empty arms.

Then he would begin to cry.

**_We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time_ **

**_But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind_ **

He tipped the bottle back until it was empty.

"Damn!" He snarled.

The drunken, enraged man threw the bottle across the room to have it shatter against the stone wall. He immediately went to fetch another. _When was the last time he had ventured above_ _?_ Months at least.

The man was in need of more alcohol, no doubt. He sneered at the thought of having to leave his sanctuary. He preferred the dark, where he could hide and pretend that love and light did not exist.

**_Until the night…_ **

Those dull green eyes were fully dilated from the drug.

" _Erik…"_

His heart stopped and he quickly spun around at the sound of the voice. _Her_ voice.

" _Erik…"_ Christine stood there in front of him, more beautiful than ever. Could it be? She wore a long, white, silken dress that seemed to ripple, though there was no wind.

"Chr-Christine?" Erik whimpered, staggering forward.

" _Yes, love"_ Her smile was bright and eyes soft.

Tears welled in his eyes. "I miss you…so much" He made his way toward her, slowly and unevenly.

" _I miss you too, mon ange. Don't worry, it will all be okay"_ _She cooed gently, giving a soft, sad smile._

_“How? How can it be okay?” Erik pleaded, tears staining his cheeks “I can’t be without you!”_

_The figment started slowly fading, her hand outstretched “You are never without me, darling”_

"Don't leave me, Christine" He begged weakly. But he knew she would; she always did.

" _I have to"_ Her eyes were sad as if she truly regretted having to leave him.

"No!" he fell to his knees in anguish.

" _I love you"_ The beautiful figment vanished; leaving Erik alone yet again. A soul shattering cry echoed through the catacombs.

**_He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger_ **

It had been almost four years.

Four cold, dark, lonesome years.

No more.

He scrambled through his things until he found it. The gun felt cold and heavy in his hand. It filled him with an odd sense of peace. It would be over soon.

**_And finally drank away her memory_ **

The empty bottle was set by his bed. He could hardly think through the alcohol. He could think of only one thing.

_Christine…_

_The only thing that mattered. He closed his eyes, focusing on that beautiful word._

The sharp bang echoed throughout the catacombs, scaring anything that lived in the darkness. Then it echoed away into a cold, stony silence.

**_Life is short, but this time it was bigger_ **

**_  
**Than the strength he had to get up off his knees**_ **

He didn't remember her anymore. He didn't feel the longing for her he had before. She no longer haunted his every thought. The pain was gone.

He didn't feel anything. That was how he liked it.

**_We found him with his face down in the pillow_ **

**_With a note that said, 'I'll love her till I die.'_ **

He lay there, a charcoal picture of her beside him, lightly spattered in blood. And a ring, curled up in his hand.

The cold box that had once served as his bed, now served its true purpose.

**_And when we buried him beneath the willow_ **

No one knew. No one cared.

Only her. Always her.

**_The angels sang a whiskey lullaby_ **

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**_The rumors flew…_ **

The stares burned. She couldn't go anywhere without feeling their eyes boring into her. Raoul tried to assure her that their opinions didn't matter. However, that didn't stop the whispers.

"That's her"

"She's the one that the Opera Ghost was obsessed with"

"I hear she's the reason the opera burned!"

"I can't believe a respectable and hansom man like the Vicomte would marry her!"

… ** _but nobody knew how much she blamed herself_**

Everyday she would go through the same thing. The guilt and pain would eat her alive every moment of every day, but she played the good and cheerful wife.

Then when night came she and her husband would climb into bed together and she would silently cry herself to sleep, hoping he couldn't hear.

**_For years and years, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath_ **

The bottle was tucked neatly under the mattress. That had been its hiding place for quite some time. She hid it from her perfect husband, only bringing it out when he was gone.

She was fairly certain the servants knew, but if they did, they said nothing.

**_She finally drank her pain away a little at a time_ **

**_But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind_ **

When she finally did fall asleep, he was there.

He would sing her beautiful lullabies or hold her and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. No matter what happened in those dreams, they always ended the same way.

She always awoke in a frightening place with a stranger in her bed and a hole in her chest.

**_Until the night…_ **

The tears streaked her face. It was no different than any other night.

_No._

Four years was enough. She couldn't do this anymore. Not to herself or Raoul. She had already caused so many people so much pain; caused _him_ so much pain.

"Erik" a broken sob escaped her lips “I’m so sorry”

**_She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger_ **

She knew where her husband kept it: the key to her happiness. She waited until he had gone to a political meeting, and then went to his study.

She pulled it out of the drawer and felt it in her hand. Any second thoughts left immediately.

This was right. She had to do this.

**_And finally drank away his memory_ **

_Erik…_

She hated doing this to Raoul, but she just couldn't bear it anymore. She set her bottle on the floor and clutched the item in her hand.

The loud bang echoed through the large, unfeeling house.

**_Life is short, but this time it was bigger_ **

**_Than the strength she had to get up off her knees_ **

Raoul had seen the change in Christine over the years. It tore at his heart, knowing he could do nothing to ease the pain. He did his best to make her happy and to help her forget. But he knew it was a waste of time. He could do nothing but watch as his wife slipped further away from him everyday.

He loved her, he truly did. That just wasn't enough.

**_We found her with her face down in the pillow_ **

**_Clinging to his picture for dear life_ **

The maids were the first to find her. The sound had startled the help and they rushed to the bedroom. She was curled up on the floor, holding a striking white half-mask.

**_We laid her next to him beneath the willow,_ **

Raoul laid it in the box with her. The white was shocking against her dark dress. He knew she had loved him, just not in the same way. The mask was laid on her chest, with her hands gently draped over it. He knew she would have wanted it this way. A piece of him close to her.

She was never anyone else’s. Only his. She belonged to the man in the mask...

**_While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby…_ **


End file.
